


I Will be Your Tim Drake for Tonight (R)

by Offendedfish



Series: DC Reader Inserts by an Offended Fish [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Under the Red Hood (2010), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Hood: Lost Days
Genre: Batkids are little shits to each other, Chronic Pain, F/M, False Face Society (DCU), Good Bro Dick Grayson, Good Bro Tim Drake, Good Sibling Cassandra Cain, Good Sibling Damian Wayne, Minor Character Death, No Incest, Protective Batfamily (DCU), Protective Dick Grayson, Reader is a snarky shit, Swearing, Torture, batsis, false face au, i don't know what it's called - Freeform, more warnings in author notes, not just emotional, some gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:02:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26018467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Offendedfish/pseuds/Offendedfish
Summary: Preferring to do anything but your physics project, you decide to accepts Tim’s proposal. It’s simple. He does your project, you try to figure out whether Jason Sionis is criminal. Easy, right?orFish's excuse to write banter during the most inappropriate situation.
Relationships: Bruce Wayne & His Kids, Bruce Wayne & Reader, Cassandra Cain & Reader, Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Damian Wayne & Reader, Dick Grayson & Reader, Jason Todd/Original Female Character(s), Jason Todd/Reader, Roman Sionis & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Reader
Series: DC Reader Inserts by an Offended Fish [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1885726
Kudos: 42





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Building Interest](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18500059) by [Zoeleo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoeleo/pseuds/Zoeleo). 



> The events and characterization in this story are very heavily based on Zoeleo's Long Term Investment series. It is fantastic and I really highly recommend all of her fics.
> 
> a/n: For clarification, Reader does have psychic powers but it only lets her sense people's emotions physically. No mind-reading. Her power is more like an overactive sense of empathy which may force her to dissociate into someone else.
> 
> As for the additional warning, an animal is harmed but it is barely described. I could not bring myself to actual describe it but the aftermath is described. 
> 
> I also just converted this from an OC so I apologize for any grammatical mistakes.

Your skin itches as you make your way through the crowd. It wasn't the suit. After all, Alfred Pennyworth was incapable of doing wrong. It was the sea of hands patting your back, petting your head, and pinching your cheeks made every inch of skin want to slough off. Tim owed you. He owed you big time. Then again he's back at the manor tackling your physics project and making sure Gotham doesn't set itself on fire while Batman is on ‘vacation’. 

You should be fine. It’s not like Brucie asked you to investigate a suspected criminal who also happens to be Roman Sionis’ heir. Nope, no pressure there. Thanks Bruce. You’re clad in blue contacts, a black wig, makeup, and a stolen suit. As safe as you felt in someone else's skin, you still felt like you were gonna fall over. Maybe it's because you were dumb enough not to bring your cane. 

The room was dizzyingly full of people. Your mind goes haywire. Jumping from one mind to the next. Dipping into every emotion it could stick itself into. It was almost overwhelming enough for you to forget about the ache in your leg. You knew this night was gonna be far longer than you could stand. You needed a drink. Or 9. 

"Hey, no drinking! You're underaged!" Dick nearly shrieked, plucking your fifth(?) flute of champagne. You wouldn't be in a few months. Really he was being quite unreasonable to the drunk person in front of him. Looking him dead in the eyes, you wave another server over and take 2 flutes of champagne. "I'm fine Dick. I've drunken harder stuff than this." 

"No," Dick said firmly snatching the 2 flutes from your hand. 

"Big bro pleeeaaasee" You drawl sweetly knowing Dick was a sucker for that move. Dick tries to look unmoved but you could see in the slump of his shoulders that he wanted to give in. "I'm having an episode," The word episode felt strange and wrong but there really was no other way to describe it. "and I don't have any painkillers on me." You added hastily. 

"Fiiine-" Dick whines, resolve crumbling to dust. Handing back only one flute of champagne, he scolds: "Just don't get shit faced. We're here on a mission."

"Yes, motheeeer,"

Without missing a beat, you down it, feeling the tearing in your head beginning to fade. 

"Jesus, calm down," Dick said taking the now empty flute from you. 

You are less than surprised by the fact that he isn't fazed by being called mother at this point. It might just be the alcohol. The Powers might not understand the concept of fun but they sure do have taste in alcohol. 

While Dick lectures you on safe alcohol consumption and Babs laughs unhelpfully, You feel the press of another person's mind. The other 2 seem to notice it too. Being pulled out of their reverie, they turn to greet them. 

"Target at 2'oclock" Babs whispers but your mind had for some reason forgotten how English worked. Instead, it drifted to the simple mind coming closer to them. Almost too quickly, you dropped down to your knees. Your joints complained but you could feel your mind smooth as you placed a gentle hand on the dog's fur. 

The dog whuffs with glee as if to say "Yes! There! Pat there!". 

Absorbed in the dog's uncomplicated happiness, you began to piece yourself back together and the pain in your head receded. 

" Who's a good girl? You are! You are!"

The dog yips happily. Its smooshed face pressing into your hand. You forget the party until-

Dick coughs clearing his throat, laughter bright in his blue eyes. 

You, for the first time, notice the person beside the dog. It was their target, Jason Sionis, stretching out his hand to shake yours. 

"Oh- Uh- it's just your dog- She's- Hi, I'm Tim Drake." you shoot up to shake his hand. You notice the patches of scabs and scars on his knuckles. You’re pretty sure Dick or Tim could give him a run for his money if they didn't have makeup on. Though that just might speak more to their-as Damian puts it- incompetence. 

Your eyes flicker to Dick momentarily as he tries so hard not to laugh. 

"Well, it was nice to make your acquaintance," Jason says flatly as he turns his attention to Dick and Babs for a more coherent discussion. You weren’t entirely certain that you offended him but you were probably close. 

You want to say that it's his eyes that you notice first. They were a striking shade of ultramarine, a terrifying facsimile of the ocean. They made you shudder. You would have rather noticed how nicely he filled out his suit. The man was made of muscle under that well-tailored suit. You file the image for further appreciation later. But, unfortunately, you are far too accustomed to checking your brothers for wounds for your eyes to not immediately flicker towards the scar on his face. It takes everything in you not to stare at the scar cleaving down the flesh of his cheek rigging the right side of his face into a permanent grin. Thankfully, he leaves them saying something about having business somewhere else. 

Sure, the guy falls into Gotham’s pattern of ruining your face and turning to a life of crime but so far he hasn’t really shown anything concrete. Plus, he’s really nice to his dog. No one that nice to a dog could possibly be the Red Death, Black Mask’s shiniest, and rumored to be his most brutal, new enforcer. Then again, your mother always did treat Anatoli like a king. 

"Tim was right. You can act like him. You even got him shoving his own foot in his mouth down pat. Great job. " Dick chuckles patting you on the shoulder jostling you out of your thoughts. 

You sigh. "The next time I go undercover I'm going alone. I don't even know why you're here."

"I think you've demonstrated why." 

You- annoyed, embarrassed, and feeling the marching in your skull coming back- jab "Alright  _ Fabio _ , you befriend Mr.Pretty boy-" . 

"That's pretty mean eve-" 

"I didn't mean it to be mean-"you honestly didn't but you were byelingual at this point. "-I think he's pretty. Scars are sexy and all of that carp. "

"I am very concerned." 

"You should be. I'm out of booze and the dog just walked away. " you hissed rubbing the side of your head before stomping off to look for more drinks.

You feel your head jack rabbiting again. The staff had, as per some evil person's request (Likely Dick or maybe Babs), cut you off from the booze. You find yourself wandering around until your feet take you outside. The cool night air and the nearly freezing bricks sooth you warmed skin as you slide against it. 

"What? Did you come out 'ere to watch my dog piss?" a slightly familiar baritone voice chuckled. 

"As fun as that sounds, I just escaped Dick Grayson. I believe that, in itself, is reason enough to go outside and take in the 'fresh' Gotham night air. " you snark, looking up expecting him to grin at you but was greeted with a look of concern. You’ve seen it before. Your hand almost automatically makes its way to your nose. You felt a thick liquid brush against the pads of your fingers. If you looked at them, you’d likely see them covered in blood. 

You shrug and brush your deep red sleeve against your face. You probably didn't get all of it based on the crooked grin on his face. 

"Shit kid, they'll think I punched you." Jason chuckles good-naturedly. You know he's not nervous. He’s charming enough to talk his way out of it. 

"Relax, Dick will likely say I deserved it if they do think you punched me but that is highly unlikely seeing these episodes are an open secret after I bled on Mrs. Yavorski's satin dress a few years ago. " 

"Well, in that case, you want a smoke? Should take the edge off." Jason says it as a joke holding out a pack of cigarettes to you. Everyone knows Wayne kids are good kids. 

You, feeling particularly cheeky, take the cigarette between his lip and take a long drag, inhaling and letting your eyes slide close. 

He makes a quiet choking noise. Away from the sea of minds, you can feel his eyes on you. Wide and disbelieving. A cocktail of interest, embarrassment, excitement, and delight swirls in his mind. It might have been attraction or it might just have been amusement. You shouldn't be too surprised by the reaction. Tim is quite the knock out even when he looks dead on his feet. His confusion only lasts five seconds before you cough out "Christ, it's just as bad as Bruce said it was."

You hand him back the cigarette laughing and coughing into your sleeve.

"So, did your brother tell you to apologize?" He says, clearing his throat not really looking you in the eyes. You can still see the faint speck of color on his face. 

"Well, he didn't say it. He doesn’t really have to and I do have manners contrary to popular belief. Plus! In my defense, your dog is cute. "

"Lizzie is, isn't she?" Jason smiles patting Lizzie on her head. It was a soft gesture. Something you really didn't expect from a supposedly hardened criminal let alone someone raised by Roman Sionis. 

You crouch down to Lizzie's level and put your hands on the dog's face. Lizzie happily nuzzles into your hands. 

"You have a dog?"

" Depends, does Dick count?"

Jason snorts. "Do you ever think before you speak?"

"Not when I'm drunk and bleeding, no." 

"How drunk are you?"

You mime counting. "As far as Dick knows, I'm 1 to 2 flutes drunk. As far as the staff knows, I'm 7 flutes drunk." 

"I should probably get you back to your brother then" Jason laughs, pulling you by the arm. You notice for the first time just how big his hands really are. 

"No, I-"

Gunshots. Pain. Panic. They ring in equal measure to you as a black van pulls up in the alley. 

"Fuck! Box!"

A man in a dark suit crumples to the ground. You recognize him. He was part of Jason's security team. In a flurry of movement, Jason's by his side. You think he's checking the injuries- which in your opinion is at once the smartest and dumbest move you could do in this situation- but he-is in fact-checking for a gun. 

Gun in hand, Jason begins shooting at the men. 

You think to grab a stray brick or something but you knew your best chance was to crouch low and maybe convince Jason to do the same. But based on the murder radiating from him, that was highly unlikely. 

Lizzie runs out in front of them to protect Box and Jason. It goes as well as expected. 

Lizzie whines into your touch. The tendrils of your mind desperately trying to keep Lizzie there. You want to scream. Your mind surges trying to dip into someone else but Jason's anger and grief consume you. You want to charge at them, rip their throats out, tear them limb from limb. But it's Jason who does it. His body launches forward faster than you could speak. 

The men in masks were just as fast. One of them incapacitates him with a well-placed metal pipe to the head. His whole body hits the pavement with one loud thud. Your breath catches. 

"There's two of them," 

"What do you mean there's two of them?" 

"The boss said black hair, blue eyes, and a fucked up face"

"Did he say what kind of fucked up?" 

"Not really"

You want to squawk about how nosebleeds don't really count. Given, it is bleeding like it’s auditioning to be the next Niagara falls.

"Just take them both!" barks a rough voice from the van. 

You think to make a break for it but fast as you are(not really). Your head was still ringing and you couldn't really take them out on your own. 

You hold your hands up in surrender. "I'll go quietly. I know the drill. "

The men look at each other clearly confused by your cooperation but not really willing to question it. 

They throw cuffs on your wrist and literally throw you into the van like a sack of potatoes. Not that they treat Jason any better. He looks dizzy and pale.

"Are you-"

With a heave, he throws up on "your" shoes. You want to laugh. You really do. You also just want to cry. 

Tim is going to kill you. No, Alfred will. If you’re lucky-which you never are- Dick will suffocate you with a hug before they ever get to you. 

Maybe just maybe, the kidnappers will do it for you. 

Yeah, right. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You've been kidnapped. Now, what?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> English is an evil language. Grammar is a lie.

The ride was less than comfortable. Outside the more affluent districts, Gotham's roads were atrocious, bumpy, pothole-ridden death traps. Based on how bumpy it was, you suspected you were close to the docks. A minute into the death trap, you decided to pull Jason's head into your lap to cushion it from further damage. The problem was his face was still covered in vomit and now so were your trousers. This evening was gonna stretch on for an eternity. 

By the time you thought of the 19th way Damian was gonna tell you how incompetent you were, you arrived. The doors opened, stepped in, extracted you, and hauled you like sacks of potatoes.

You look over to Jason who finally stirred to what seemed like consciousness. 

"Hey, are you-" 

Jason snarls breaking free of his captors and launching himself at the man who shot Lizzie. They were down on the floor. Jason on top wailing on the man. His knuckles getting bloody. Logically speaking, you should stop him or at least try. On the other hand, Lizzie's death still stung. There was also a brutal efficiency to his strikes each landing where it would hurt the most. Wait. How the hell is he even out of his cuffs? You make a mental note to practice getting out of handcuffs or to at least get pointers from him. 

It takes a surprising amount of time before they actually restrain him again. It was either from shock or they just really didn't like their coworker. The man on the ground is wheezing and bloody when another takes him away. 

They tie them to a post. 

You let out a heavy sigh riggling against the rope. "You really do excel at being a pain in the ass, don't you?"

"It's just my dazzling personality, sweetheart."

"Ah yes, the one that won you an all-expenses-paid trip to this wonderful Gotham warehouse."

"You're here to dipshit." 

You open and close your mouth to protest, to say something snarky but he was right. You decide to stay silent. 

"You're worth a lot of money, right?" Jason asks, breaking the silence with a level tone. 

" Uh, the guy I'm dressed up as is, yeah. Why?"

"You're not Tim Drake?" 

"According to my birth certificate, no. But  _ they _ don't know that so can it. " 

"You're going to die." Jason sighs on the opposite side of the beam. You can't quite picture his sharp features into something soft but you like the idea. 

" Thanks, sunshine. " 

"Unless you can pull a plan out of yer ass-"

"I do have a plan." Kind of. 

"Well let me hear it, genius." He jeers, tugging on the ropes so he can turn to you. From the corner of your eye, you can see him looking at you intently. 

"Sit here and wait."

Jason blinks at you trying to process what you just said. "Great. Wanna make tea cozies while yer at it?"

Your nose scrunches up indignant. "Still working better than yours. At least, I don't have a concussion!"

"Got any more salt you want to rub in my wound, Tom?" You can't see it but you can practically feel him roll his eyes. 

You full-on snort laugh at the comment. You definitely blame Dick for your affinity to shitty jokes.

"Well-" 

"So which one of you is the Sionis kid?" the man asks, pointing a gun at them. 

you and Jason try to look at each other. 

"Don't lie." The man adds hastily. This is probably his first abduction. You felt kind of bad. Part of you even wanted to give him a few tips. 

"Brilliant idea. They'll definitely answer." The man behind him snarls rolling his eyes.

"Shut up, Larry." 

The men continued to bicker leaving their hostages mildly bewildered. 

_ What would Tim do? Tim wouldn't be in this situation. Wait. Yes, he would. I'm giving him too much credit _ . 

You decide negotiation is your best option. 

"He's the real Jason Sionis. " You said flatly leaning your head towards him. 

Jason looks at you incredulously. He looks betrayed but his face is too hardened and jaded for it to show fully. Unfortunately for both of you, You could feel it oozing off of him. 

"How do we know you aren't lying?" The first man says pressing the gun to your forehead. You can still feel the trembling in his hands.

“I have my driver's license on me. My wallet. It's in my coat pocket.” 

The man reaches into your coat pocket and pulls out Tim's wallet. Your skin begins to prickle uncomfortably from the close contact. 

" Ha! See. It worked." 

" Yeah. Yeah. So what do we do with this kid?"

"I can pay you to let me go!" 

"How do we even know he's worth anything?" Someone shouts from faraway. 

"Mo's gotta pretty good point." 

"Did the $2000, puke-covered suit not give it away?"

"Nah, it's the puke-covered $1000 dress shoes." Jason quips more venomously than you anticipated. His sarcastic grin was still etched with the barest hint of betrayal. 

You death glare him but you couldn't really tell him 'Don't worry I just need to call my vigilante brothers to help you.'

"Ok, ok, those are also good points." 

"Plus, haven't you heard of Drake industries?"

"What do you do? Make ducks?"

"No, you idiot. They- Never mind. How do we know you're good for it?" Larry hisses.

"We really should ask the boss first." Mo pipes up again.

As if on cue, a large man clad in black and a scowl that would make anyone wither. 

You vaguely recognize him from one of the cases Tim was working on but no name comes to mind. Bryan? Brent? Something along those lines. 

“Let me call my family. He'll even let you see him sign the check.” you plead as sweetly as you can. 

The man in charge looks at you making you shrink. On a good day, you’re a decent fighter given you have your cane, you weren’t sloshed, and the man you’re fighting isn't built like a goddamn brick wall. Right now though even as they untie you, you can feel yourself trying to curl up. 

But as much as you want to, you need to make it out alive. If for nothing else than to spite your youngest brother. 

"Please. Jus- just one phone call."

Giving you another appraising look, he hands you the phone. Does he know? Are your freckles finally showing through the makeup? You shake your head but the shiver doesn't go away. 

_ It's good for your acting _ , you tell yourself. 

The phone rings. You breathe deep listening to the dial tone. For your sake and possibly Jason's, you have to keep a level head. The place smelled of seawater. The building was big and barren with little to nothing in it. By the looks of it, it was one of Gotham harbors 'rare' abandoned warehouses. You look around, making sure to fidget. It was dark but you could see a 13. 

"Hello, who is this?"

Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. No, I have no idea how much suits actually cost.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shutting up might save your life. Do you follow this train of thought? Absolutely not. What kind of Wayne would you be?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your siblings are little shits. Sibling shenanigans. Reader is terrible at acting. Roman Sionis is very creepy.

Your stomach drops. 

Fuck. 

Of course, Damian just had to be the one to pick up. 

"Hey baby bro, could you pass the phone to dad?"

"I'm sorry who is this?"

This little shit. 

"You're such a kidder! Dami, it's me, Tim. "

“Ah yes, Drake-” You can hear Tim choke in the background. “What do you want?”

“Please Dami just pass the phone to dad, I- I really need to talk to him”

“Very well,”

“Tim?” The voice sounded like Bruce’s but the intonation was all wrong. The voice changer Tim and Babs were working on seems to have made progress.

“Hey dad, I- uh. I might have gotten kidnapped.”

Tim makes another choking noise. “Might have?”

“I was at the party. I think I had around 13 drinks.  **13** ! Can you believe it? I felt like a right sailor after that, like the harbor workers, y’know? Anyway, I was taking a smoke-”

“Enough!” The large man roared, snatching the phone from you. “Send us $100 million by tomorrow or your kid’ll be shark bait!” Who says that anymore?

“Of course! Of course! I’ll have the money sometime this evening. Please don’t hurt him.”

Tim, God bless him, does not laugh. Tim’s acting needs some work but he sure does know how to act worried. 

The line dies and they tie you back up to the post. 

“What the hell?!” 

“We have to make sure you don’t just runoff.” The large man says tightening your bonds. Truthfully, you’ve felt far worse. After all, corsets exist. However, this was still a close second. 

“Do I look like I could outrun a snail?”

“He’s got a point boss. He looks like he hasn’t even seen the sun in ages.”

This, you decide, is true for Tim. When was the last time he went out before dark? Maybe he got sunlight when he stayed over at Eddie’s place. 

The large man grabs Jason by the collar and throws him to his men. 

The 3 men kick and curse at him. They mock him and beat him down. They wail on him with their fists, their steel-toed shoes, and sometimes brick. Jason takes it all with a crooked grin and a sharp tongue. You watched in awe. Even on the floor, Jason looked sturdy, ferocious, and indomitable. 

"They all break, sweet girl." 

Jason is on a tiled floor. No, he should be on concrete. His blood is on the tile. They’re hitting him. They’re hitting him with a bat. No. They aren’t supposed to be holding a bat. They were kicking him but now they’re holding a bat. No,  _ She’s _ holding a bat. There's supposed to be three of them, three men, but their forms coalesce into  _ her _ . You can hear his ribs cracking. Next are his legs. His legs are always next. Then his arm. She'll break each bone in his arms and his hands. He’s wheezing. His voice sounds hoarse. His voice is too hoarse. He sounds like he’s been starved and dehydrated for at least a day. They’ve only been here for an hour. That isn’t right. Oh God! Now she had a cleaver in her hands. 

No! 

No! 

He doesn’t need to die. She can’t. 

no.

No.

No! 

The scene crescendos as the tall, dark, sinewy silhouette towering over Jason raises the butcher's knife above her head. 

“Harder, daddy!”

“Son?”

The scene of the kitchen fades and the shit-eating grin on Jason melts into view which shifts from amusement to confusion then back to amusement.

You blink seeing his stupid grin far too clearly. 

You let a bark of gut-busting laughter out as you strain against the rope. Your brow pinches with concern but based on the scowls you’re receiving they're more focused on the fact that you were laughing like a mad man. 

Jason looks like he’s about to laugh from the absurdity as well when the man in charge picks him up again tossing him into a chair. The other men tie him down binding his wrists and ankles. 

"I've had worse." He spits out. 

The phone rings again, the dial tone echoing. Jason looks like hell with his face swollen and bruises beginning to bloom on every surface but he still looked like he was 5 seconds from starting a fight. 

The large man punches Jason hard in the gut knocking the air out of his lungs as the dial tone cuts off. “Hear that, Sionis? Your little bitch is pretty soft.”

Oh God, are they serious?

“Who is this? Nevermind. You ok there, sweetheart?” Roman Sionis’ ‘concerned’ voice carries over the line. 

They are. 

“Nothing I can't handle, daddy.” Jason chuckles with the utmost casualness. You, on the other hand, instantly want to disinfect your brain. Thankfully, before your mind could wander somewhere it can't return from, the big man growls into the phone. 

“Don't you recognize the voice of the man whose life you've ruined?!” 

“You've gotta be more specific than that. I've ruined quite a few lives but I would like to know whose brain I need to put a bullet in.” 

“IT'S ME BRUNO HARDIN!”

“Doesn't ring any bells.” Roman deadpans almost sounding completely disinterested. “Sweetheart, you remember anyone like that?” 

“Nope,” Jason replies letting the p pop. It seemed like a strange sort of triumph before it all crashes down with another swift punch to the ribs. 

You stare at the strange scene torn between amusement and horror. 

“Take this seriously!” Bruno roars.

"I'm taking this about as seriously as it deserves." 

A part of you thought 'yeah this is ridiculous enough to warrant nonchalance' while the other part wanted to scream. On one hand, even you found his identity anticlimactic. Doesn’t he know just how many small-time businesses Roman has ruined? He’d be lucky to get into the top 50. It’s not like he was running a pretty ethical establishment either. On the other hand, your freaking kid is getting the shit kicked out of him. Emote damn it.

“Jason. Don’t you worry. Daddy’s going to take care of this. Your Uncle D happens to be in town. He’s on his way to pick you up. Love you, baby. See you soon.”

The line dies. Your stomach sinks further somehow. You don’t know if the nausea is due to the fact that the line died, the threat, or the number of times the word ‘daddy’ came up. Who the hell is Uncle D? How is he supposed to help? Your gaze trails to Jason who is now lowering his head to the floor seemingly tired. Maybe that last punch finally drained the fight from him.

“You're all so fucked.” Jason barks out in a fit of laughter. The men around him, jumping from the volume of his voice. 

Bruno grabs Jason by the collar and begins to shake him as if the “Shut the fuck up you little bitch! Whoever your Uncle D is he's-”

“Deathstroke”

You feel like someone kicked you in the chest. First of all, Uncle D? Really? You guess that there are worse hills to die on. This was somehow weirder than hearing Faust and her siblings call him pops. Second of all, Fuck. You'd never gotten your asshanded to you by Deathstroke but based on how banged up the Titans looked after fighting him this wasn't gonna be pretty. All you could hope for was that you wouldn't get caught in the crossfire. Although, the image of Deathstroke grudgingly letting a kid call him Uncle D lightens your mood a bit. 

Bruno throws Jason on the floor hard enough for his body to bounce. Like Jason earlier, Bruno is radiating murder. 

_ Just run, you thick motherfucker.  _

You, being the ‘nice’ Wayne kid that you are, try to tell him as much but sadly that was halted by shattering glass. A flurry of black, orange, and metal crash through the glass and cut through the crowd of men. 

They fire at him, panic making their faces even paler. They hit him, bullets sinking into his flesh, blood splatters but none of it fazes him. He skewers and cuts them down with ease. His swords and suit are liberally decorated with their blood when it’s all done. 

He steps over Bruno’s body. From the grunt that comes out, Bruno is still alive. Dumb bastard doesn’t know how to play dead. He’ll die from blood loss anyway. 

“Hey, kid-” Deathstroke greets tersely, picking up Jason’s nearly limp body. “We’re gonna get you home.” He slings Jason’s arm over his shoulder. 

“Wait!” 

Deathstroke stops sounding slightly annoyed. 

Jason turns to you, who’s still unhappily tied to a post. “We gotta get him out.” He rasps. 

“Kid, you’re the only one I’m getting paid to rescue.” Deathstroke helpfully informs as he carefully adjusts his hold on the struggling young man. You blow out a breath somehow more irritable than scared. “Just cut me out. I can make my way back just fine.” 

“Walk in Gotham, are you stupid?” Jason hisses. The concern bleeding through. 

“Which one of us charged at their captors while they were armed?”

Jason scowls at you with a petulant twist in his lips. “Yanno what, Leave ‘im.”

“Ok, ok, I’m sorry and yeah I’ll be fine. I know where to avoid. Just please don’t leave me with them” you plead, throwing away any pride you held as you glance at the most likely dead bodies. Deathstroke cuts you out. Your skin feels raw but you’re otherwise unharmed. 

You walk out of the warehouse and Dick practically throws himself at you. “Oh thank god, they didn’t shoot you in the head.” He mumbles into your wig. 

"Why would you think they would shoot me in the head?" 

Dick pulls back and frowns at you through the domino mask. “You aren’t exactly the most pleasant-”

“ We were model hostages.” you squawk.

Jason snorts far too loudly to be helpful. 

You glare at him but you weren’t about to say fuck off to him while he has one of the world’s deadliest assassins right next to him. 

Deathstroke coughs. “Well if you don’t mind we’ll be taking our leave.” 

Dick holding you protectively, glares but says nothing. Maybe he does but you faint before you can hear it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is an epilogue.

The car ride was awkward, to say the least, and disastrous to some unholy degree. Dick had insisted on calling you while you were driving, not really taking into account that you might need navigation on the way to the hospital(a place you avoid like the plague on a normal day). Moral support he said. You understand though. It wasn't obvious but all of them got a bit clingy when one of them was kidnapped. Dick was just the most obvious. Bruce scolded you. Alfred insisted you should rest but, in your opinion, 2 days was enough resting. Cass and Dick were practically koala bears when you got home. They probably held you for hours and even when your skin pricked, you let them. Tim offered to put a tracker in your favorite earnings which you declined because you didn't want to find out whether Bruce had already put trackers in there. Damian actually offered to go with you. It was sweet but you declined. You were tempted but you knew if you let Damian come with, Dick would insist on going then Cass then Tim then maybe Batcow or something. You had no intention of suffocating Jason. 

His bodyguard, Reggie, looked like he had every intention to suffocate you. 

“Uh hi- I'm Tim. I-” I'm Jason's abduction buddy. But how does one say that without getting socked in the face by a man who can bench press 10 of you?

"I'm Jason's friend(?)." you squeak with the utmost sincerity you can muster. Reggie's brow ticks up in response. Fuck. 

Reggie leans down, getting in your face. You could feel your skin begin to prick. If you were Dick, you'd be able to pirouette over this easy (or make it 10 times worse). 

"Reggie just let him in you fucking tightwad" Jason shouts from the other side of the door. 

You slip in as smoothly as you could trying to hide your giddiness. "Hey pretty boy, you look like hell." You say with a light jovial tone almost saying it like a laugh as you nudge past the crowd of dogs. How the hell did they get dogs in here? 

"Aw, you say that to all the injured rich assholes you meet!" 

"I know Dick Grayson! I have standards." You protest handing him a bouquet of get well flowers. 

Jason stares at the flowers with a pinched brow, mouth twisted into something unreadable. "I'm surprised you wanted to talk to me again. " He says, voice wavering. "Most people don't react well to getting kidnapped."

You’ve been through worse but you still have nightmares about it. "I've- " You shrug " Not your fault." You sit down to pet the dog nudging your leg. The dog by your leg looks exactly like Lizzie. Your heart sinks. It's not like he wanted to be kidnapped. Not like he wanted you to even be there in the alley. None of it was his fault as far as you knew. Your mouth pulls to one side not. It's pursed, deep in thought. You look up at eyes bright and focused, unlike the last time you met. You look at him dead serious as if you were gonna tell him something really important. Maybe you should say something meaningful like condolences for Lizzie or Is Box ok? 

"Ok, fine, I wanted to see your dogs."

"Fuck!" He belts out laughing. "My ribs still hurt damn it. Don't make me laugh!" 

"As a fellow rich asshole, I am offended that you did not expect that of me. " you really try not to smile but something about how his rugged face tugs into a smile makes your chest warm up. And that laugh! Now in the quiet of a hospital room with only the whirring of machines as accompaniment, you could now appreciate the dulcet tones of his voice. It was rough from fatigue but it still sounded velve-

Shit. You sound like Dick. 

"I got you a get-well present by the way. "

You sputter tossing him the bag realizing too late that that was probably a bad idea to throw things at a sick person. 

"You really didn't have to…." He said sheepishly. 

He opens the bag. It's a copy of Tales of Earthsea. 

"I heard through the grapevine that you liked books,"

"You did, huh?" He asks clearly skeptical but amused by the lie. No, you found out through research. You really should have checked what kind of books he was into but he doesn't seem annoyed by the choice. 

"Stalker," he snorts his face pulling into a cocky grin. 

You like this side of him as well. He was cute either way. You had to stop giving Dick shit about pretty faces. 

"Thanks…" 

"(Y/n). It's (y/n)." 

“Here I thought your name really was Tom.”

“Nope.”

“You gonna tell me why you were dressed up as Tim?”

Pulling out a pack of cards, “Depends how good are you at poker?”

He tilts his head making those blue eyes shine and gives you a heart-stopping grin.

You really hope Bruce was wrong about him. 

If that was the case, so much for giving Bruce shit about  _ his _ type. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. There'll be a second part where the

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.


End file.
